Soul Searching
by Trunks lil' sis
Summary: Blotched robbery aside, it was the sharp sound, rather than the blunt force that slammed into Kurt, that destroyed him.


**Soul Searching**

Title: Soul Searching

Author: Jen

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Violence

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* * *

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"Kurt!"

Kurt gave a sudden, deep gasp.

"Kurt!"

He took a step back, beginning to shake, his legs feeling like they could give out on him at any moment. He felt lightheaded and dizzy and nauseous.

"I'm … I'm okay," Kurt tried to breathe out.

It felt like warmth was running out of him, like he'd seen the saddest movie, or as if he'd lost his mother all over against. The aching in his chest, the feeling of despair and detachment, it was encompassing, and overpowering and he was starting to loose sense of the people in front of him.

His father gave a terrible cry, something Kurt had never heard before, not even when his mother had died. And that, up until only a few moments earlier, had been the worst moment of his life. But now, the little boy cowering back against a corner in his mother's hospital room as she flat lined and his father wailed desperately at the doctors to save her, was replaced by a much older version. Kurt's hand reached back behind him for something to steady himself on.

"I'm okay," he repeated, suddenly looking up at the ceiling.

"Kurt, Kurt, I'm here, Kurt." His father slid into view suddenly, and Kurt realized he was being cradled against his father's chest. It had been quite some time since he'd found himself in the position, enfolded by his father's strong arms and even stronger love. It was a wonderful place to be, curled up against his father, and Kurt resolved to indulge in the feeling soon again. "Kurt, baby, you have to focus."

"Huh?" Kurt gave a hard cough, a tangy metallic taste bursting across his taste buds. He nearly gagged.

"I … I … I …"

Kurt's attention, slipping as it was, turned fully to the teenager standing a couple dozen steps from him, dressed in a jumpsuit and holding his father's pistol at chest level. His hand was shaking, his face frightened and surprised and confused. He continued to stammer, gaze glued to Kurt who gave an involuntary twitch.

Then Kurt heard Finn. He heard him give a loud yell, or maybe a deep growl, and then with lidded eyes he could see Finn plow into the kid, the both of them sprawling to the ground. The gun released from loose fingers, clanking against the shop's cement workspace and sliding out of reach near a disabled car. Finn heaved himself up, breathing hard, and began laying into the teen, regardless of the fact he was offering no resistance, and in such a violent manner that Kurt had to look away, unwilling to see Finn so out of control.

A warm hand framed the side of his face and Kurt turned to look up at his father. "What's going on?" he coughed a again, this time more roughly, arching up as he struggled to breathe. He was gasping soon after, panicking and scrambling desperately to hold onto his father who seemed distracted, speaking frantically into his cell phone.

"Dad," Kurt tried again, his vision going spotty. He was so cold, and so lost and so uncertain. "Dad."

Burt crowded over him, hugging him tighter, hand pushing down hard on Kurt's chest. "Stay with me, buddy. Come on, Kurt, you just have to hang on. Help is on the way." Then he pressed harder, and Kurt fought the hold, desperate to get away from the pain his father was inflicting on him. Kurt had never know is father to ever hurt him on purpose, and the sudden revelation that it was possible stung worse than his chest.

Tears pricking his eyes, and the sound of Finn yelling, then feet scuffing the floor, Kurt cried out, "You're hurting me."

"I know," Burt soothed, leaning down to press their foreheads together. The phone was discarded to the side, laying near Kurt's limp feet. "I'm so sorry, but you just have to … I have to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You should," Kurt said, having to pause and cough again, "I mean … dad, you shouldn't …" He wondered why the words were so hard to get out. All he meant to say was that his father had better places to be than on the cold floor of the shop. His father liked to claim that he was fully recovered from his heart attack, but Kurt knew better. His father still got winded at times, tired easily, and needed to take breaks. The floor was no place for his father.

His father's face began to blur and Kurt's fingers, slick and wet from where they'd rested next to his father's hand on his chest, reached up at the shape. For a brief moment the pressure on his chest lifted, but then his hand was caught, and both were once more uncomfortable resting on his chest.

Finn slid into view, face red and eyes wet. "Kurt. Oh my god. Kurt."

Kurt managed, smiling awkwardly, "I'm fine."

He couldn't breathe after that, and he coughed louder, harder and more wetly than before. His feet kicked out and Kurt felt himself suffocating as he clawed at his father, and then at Finn. He couldn't breathe and he didn't know why, and he was scared. Not even his father's voice, promising to take care of him, or the way Finn gripped him so protectively, was enough to keep him from succumbing to the darkness that had been creeping up on him since the gunshot that dislodged the bullet which had ripped through his chest.

* * *

"Are you sure it's going to be okay?" Finn asked nervously, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He glanced down at Kurt who walked next to him, feeling wary about the entire conversation.

"Absolutely," Kurt insisted, giving Finn a confident smile. "Dad asked specifically for me to make it known that he'd like to have you around the shop some time. Let's face it, our parents are going to be getting married, and this is dad trying to repair his relationship with you."

Together the walked the distance from the school to Kurt's Navigator, Glee club having ended only minutes earlier.

"I just, you know," Finn said, "don't know if it's such a good idea."

After moment, Kurt said, "My dad always says, that next to me, the shop is his life. After my mom died, he really put everything he had into the place. It's a child of his, and he treats it as such. He only wants to share the shop with people he loves, and despite the recent events we've endured, that extends to you, Finn."

"I think he still wants to hurt me," Finn confessed, rounding the SUV to the passenger side. "He kind of looks at me like he'd like to slug me, at least once in a while."

Kurt slid into the driver's seat and set his bag in the back, waiting for Finn before saying, "I'm all he has, Finn. It's just me and him. Well, there is Aunt Mildred, but they don't talk. She's mom's sister and she doesn't like my dad at all. The point is, my dad and I may not share a lot of the same interests or personality traits, but we are the most important thing to each other. I'm just as protective over him as he is over me. What you said probably hurt him just as much as it hurt me, and that's why he blew up at you."

Eyes downcast, Finn cleared his throat. "I know it was a crappy thing to say, probably the worst I've ever said in my life, and I've said a lot of dumb stuff."

"I know." Kurt started the SUV. "And so does dad, which is why, rest assured, that he has forgiven you. He's still disappointed in you, but he does forgive you, and he loves you, Finn. He cares about you, just like he cares about your mother. We're going to be a family, and families sometimes hurt each other. What matters is if they're able to move past the pain and repair the damage."

Finn nodded once. "Do you go to the shop a lot?"

"A couple times a week," Kurt said with a shrug. "I used to go a lot more when I was younger, before I had a car. The guys at the shop, they helped raise me. In a lot of wasy, when I lost my mom, I gained several uncles, and I had them wrapped around my finger before I even hit puberty. Dad says I do that to people, get them to opposite ends of the spectrum in mere minutes. They spoiled me, and I guess that made up for, at least in part, the people in this town who didn't accept or like me so much."

"They going to be there?" The nervous look was back on Finn's face.

"Don't worry," Kurt said with a laugh. "I'm sure they'll give you a bit of hazing in the beginning, but they'll grow to like you Finn. You start showing up with me and they'll get used to you. You might even learn something while you're at it."

Finn remarked, "I still can't believe your dad wants me at the shop."

Kurt laughed. "Welcome to the family."

The shop was quiet when Kurt pulled into the parking lot. There were several other auto shops in the Lima area, some bigger and some smaller, but theirs had a charm that Kurt knew his father partly relied on to bring new customers in with. They had their regulars who were loyal, and for the most part, the shop saw a steady stream of people, enough to keep Burt feeding Kurt's obsession of designer clothing, and employ a full staff.

But at the moment, as Kurt climbed from the Navigator, everything was quiet. He'd parked in the front for once, anticipating a quick exit after dropping Finn off and stopping in to say hi to his father, but he knew he should have been able to hear shop sounds in the distance. But there was no whirling, or clanking or banging. There was only the sound of the city around them.

Finn's pants began to play a tune and Kurt rolled his eyes. "I believe that's your ball and chain."

Finn gave Kurt a sarcastic smile and retrieved his phone. "I won't tell Rachel you call her that if you promise to tell your dad I'll be there in a second. I don't want him thinking I chickened out or anything."

Setting in the SUV's alarm system, Kurt rolled his eyes. "Just head through the door in the office when you finish placating her. And try not to loose your manhood while you're at it."

"There are the days," Finn told him, "where I feel the reoccurring urge to let Puck throw you in the dumpster again."

Kurt remarked, "See, and our parents didn't think we'd get along so well."

Kurt left Finn in the parking lot, talking in a subdued voice to someone who could only be Rachel Berry. He headed for the front office of the shop and smiled instinctive as the bell at the top of the door jingled as he pushed it open. The bell was his idea, and something his father had deemed unnecessary right away, but put up all the same just because Kurt had bought it for him.

"Jerry?" Kurt called out, eyes searching the empty room for the man who split his time between reception and auto repair. Kurt's father was an absolute mess when it came to organizing, and Kurt had long since become too busy to keep the books himself. Jerry, someone Kurt had known for nearly all his life, was really their one true hope and keeping everything in order and insuring the validity of the shop. And it was very odd to not see him at the front desk, especially since it was a Friday and Fridays always meant a lot of time on the phone and computer.

Speaking off, Kurt frowned as he spotted the disarray of the office. It wasn't as if there was major damage, but several things from the desk had been knocked to the floor and the phone that Kurt had remembered practicing his numbers on as a child, had been ripped from the wall. It was laying in pieces at Kurt's feet.

A groan frightened him, then had him darting around the desk to find the missing man sprawled out on the carpet. There was a deep, jagged cut on the man's forehead and he seemed to be covered in blood.

"Jerry," Kurt whispered, hands shaking. He was so afraid to touch the man, and if he hadn't heard him earlier, Kurt was certain he'd be convinced his father's long time friend was dead. "Oh, Jerry."

The man's eyes fluttered, but his pupils were uneven and he was barely responsive. Immediately Kurt's eyes flickered to the smashed phone. He needed to call for help, but his own cell was back in the car, and the phone in the office was wasted. His mind whirled for a moment and he surged to his feet. There was a phone back in the work space of the shop.

Kurt threw open the door and had only gotten a few feet through the door when he was met with an odd scene. He froze, taking in the sight of his father standing stiffly near a white Honda, another person with him, a teenager by the size of the form. The kid's back was to Kurt, but a half second later he swung toward Kurt and Kurt could see his father's handgun flash under the florescent lighting.

Kurt swallowed hard, hands going up instinctively.

"Hey!" Burt barked out, moving sharply and drawing the teen's attention away from Kurt. The gun moved back to Burt's form and Kurt desperately wanted to have control over his body. But he could only hold still and breathe. "You don't point that gun at my kid."

The teenager's hand was shaking as he held the gun on Kurt's father, a telltale sign that he was uncomfortable with it. Kurt wondered briefly how he'd gotten it. His father kept the gun in his office, a form of protection his father had always promised was a last resort. It seemed impossible that someone else would have access to it.

"Dad," Kurt said softly, feeling faint. "What's going on?"

Burt's features pinched. "It's okay, Kurt. Everything is okay. Just stay where you are and don't move."

"Dad." His voice was squeaking, but Kurt couldn't help it. Were they being robbed? They didn't carry much cash, most payments were made through plastic of some sort. "Jerry …"

"I know," Burt said calmly. "But you know Jer, he's always got to play the hero." Which meant, at last to Kurt, that a man he considered his uncle had tried to stop the teen with his father's gun.

"Shut up!" The teen took a step nearer Kurt and Burt tensed. "Just shut up. That guy in the office? You saw him? If you give me trouble like he did, I'll do the same to you. So just shut up. I don't want anything from you."

Where were the other guys from the shop, Kurt thought frantically. Maybe they'd taken a late lunch. The timing couldn't have been worse.

"Just let me …"

"Don't you fucking move."

Kurt realized a bit too late that his father had been trying to inch toward him.

His father froze, then said, "My son has nothing to do with this. You take what you want and do what you need to, but he never did anything to you."

"He's seen my face," the teen said, taking another step towards Kurt.

Kurt took a closer look at the teenage male in front of him. He was taller than Kurt was and broader in the shoulders. He was dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit that almost reminded Kurt of the protective coveralls that his father and the other guys wore when they worked, at least until Kurt recognized the clothing for what it was. One of Ohio's largest juvenile correctional facility was only a town up the road, and their code of dress was the very blue jumpsuit Kurt was looking at.

"What do you want?" Kurt dared to ask, nearly wincing at the look of disapproval on his father's face as he spoke.

"I just want to get out of this shithole," the teen said, a bit of desperation breaking onto his face. "Give me a car."

Burt pointed at the far wall. "Keys are hanging up. Let's make a deal. You can have the pick of the lot and in return you'll put the gun down and go without hurting anyone."

Eyes narrowed and the teen offered, "Or I could shoot you and your kid and take what I want anyway."

Breath caught in Kurt's throat and he met his father's gaze. He felt a bit embarrassed, because all Kurt could feel was fear, but his father was seemingly angry. There was nothing hesitant on his father's face, and no hesitation in his body.

"If you hurt him," Burt ground out, fingers balling into fists.

Vaguely Kurt could hear the door to the shop jingle. Finn had to be done talking to Rachel. Kurt hated that damn bell.

The teen's finger slid more surely over the trigger as he demanded of Kurt, "Who else is here?"

"No one," Kurt denied right away. "It's probably just a customer." He was desperate to keep Finn from the scene he'd stumbled on. It wasn't fair to let him become trapped as well.

"Kurt?" Finn called out.

"That your name?"

Kurt nodded numbly, too afraid to lie.

Kurt couldn't tell just quite the chain of events that transpired after that. All he knew was that the gun's trajectory settled on his torso and behind the both of them his father jumped forward to try and overpower the younger man. Finn gave a startled yell, obviously having discovered the injured man in the office, and then burst back into the shop's work area.

Kurt inhaled suddenly as the gun discharged.

* * *

For one brief, agonizing second, Kurt relieved his father's stay in the hospital. He was met with familiar whitewashed walls, a sterile smell in the air, and the too firm feeling of a distinctly firm hospital mattress below him. It took him a moment, as he blinked sleep away and found himself unable to draw in long breaths of air, to realize that he was not laying next to his father on his hospital bed.

His mouth was terribly dry, and there was an unnatural force across his face. It was unsettling and he tried to reach for it, dragging with him medical tubing.

"Don't, Kurt."

His father was there, catching his thin wrist and placing it gently back across his stomach. "Dad," he tried to say, but he word barely came out and the failure left him with a deep frown.

"You're wearing an oxygen mask," Burt said kindly, giving Kurt a genuine smile. "It's good to see you awake. There's only so much you can say to someone who's sleeping. I was … I was kind of loosing my mind."

"I'm," Kurt tried again, clearing his throat, "really confused."

Burt settled into the chair next his bed and asked, "What do you remember?"

Kurt had to think hard, because his mind was more than a little hazy. "Finn," he said eventually. "I remember Finn."

"You two were coming to the shop," Burt helped along. He stepped out of sight for a few moments, but when he returned he had a cup of water with him. He helped Kurt sip from the cup, then said, "You came in first and there was a kid with-"

"With your gun," Kurt said quickly. "I remember." There was a steady beep in the room and when Kurt wiggled his fingers he was able to see the pulse monitor attached to him. He realized at that moment there were several more machines in the room, then he told his father dully, "He shot me, didn't he?"

An odd look overcame Burt, and Kurt didn't think he'd ever seen his father look so vulnerable. The man's shoulders hunched, then trembled and he said, voice cracking, "How many times have you told me to keep that gun locked up? How many times have you gotten on me about keeping the gun and the ammunition separate? I only … I only stepped out of the shop for a second. I sent Jon out on a tow job and Mark was taking his break. I was gone for a few minutes at the most, and when I came back that kid had my gun."

Kurt let his fingers dangle over the side of the bed, hoping his father would take his grip. "It's okay," he said, unsure how to comfort the man who always knew how to take care of the both of them.

It hurt terribly to breathe, and his chest burned with each breath, but there was something rewarding about the entire exercise. He remembered laying on the cold, hard floor of the shop, struggling to take in any oxygen, fighting to breathe.

"It's not," Burt hissed venomously. "You … you were hurt by my gun. I was only gone for a minute, and when I came back he was going through my office. Maybe he was looking for keys, but he found the gun, and then he hurt you with it. How is that okay? I got that gun to protect us and it did the opposite."

Kurt wiggled his fingers, hoping his father would get the hint. "You didn't pull the trigger." He sounded a little breathy, but the words were coming easier by the second.

"I might as well have."

Finally his father's bigger, stronger fingers brushed along his and then slid into a firm grip. Kurt squeezed back as hard as he could. "How bad?" He touched gently to his chest with his free hand, feeling the gauze under his hospital standard gown.

Burt held tight to Kurt's fingers and answered, "The bullet nicked your left lung. You … you started to drown in your blood. By the time the ambulance got here you were already out. It was bad."

Kurt nodded silently.

"The took you into surgery right away," his father continued, "but they were really upfront with me. They said it was bad."

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered at him, suddenly feeling so tired. He gave his father's hand another squeeze. "Didn't mean to put you through that."

Burt was out of his chair a half second later, leaning over Kurt and kissing is forehead chastely. "You came through for me, Kurt. In the end, you didn't give up. I've spent the past week worrying, but I knew you could do it."

"Finn?" Kurt asked tiredly, looking around the room. It was empty, save for himself and his father, but Finn was on his mind.

Burt brushed back the hair that fell across Kurt's forehead. "Finn's fine, Kurt. I can't say the same for the kid who shot you. Finn put him in the hospital three floors up from you with a pretty bad beating. I don't condone fighting," Burt said, trailing off, "but some things I understand. As soon as the paramedics took you, Finn was back on that kid. It took a lot to pull him of the kid who did this to you. I think he saw red and lost track of everything else."

His eyelids felt so heavy but Kurt fought the feeling, asking, "Who was it? Who was that guy?"

Burt brought Kurt's hand up to the bed and settled it at his side, covering it with both of his hands. "It's not important, Kurt. He was just some kid who was desperate. He's nothing you need to worry about. You just gotta concentrate on getting better and taking it easy. You're going to be laid up for a while, so I guess it's my turn to take care of you now."

Finally Kurt couldn't stand it any longer and he let his eyes close. Shifting on the bed sent a furry of pain through his torso so he settled for trying to get comfortable stretched out on his back. He hummed quietly to himself for a moment, content with the shadowing feeling of his father in such a close proximity, then mumbled, "I'm just gonna close my eyes for a little bit."

His father chuckled and it was the last thing Kurt recalled for a while.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Kurt said, his feet dangling over the bed as he braced one hand against his father's chest and leaned into Finn with the other.

"Just go slow," his father said, inching him down a bit further. There was clear worry on his face. "And if it's too much, we can stop."

"If you pass out," Finn said, features pinched, "I-"

Kurt snapped at him, "I'm not going to pass out." Only maybe he was, because he couldn't catch his breath, he was feeling dizzy and starting to overheat. But he was also determined. He needed to get out of the hospital, and the first step to that was getting out of the bed he'd spent the past week confined to as his father hovered protectively nearby.

"Careful," Burt said sharply, letting out a tiny sigh as Kurt's feet settled on the ground. Clad in socks, the teen wiggled his toes and tried out his balance, still holding tight to the two men in the room.

"Boys?" The door opened and Carole stepped in, a fleece jacket folded over one arm and a smile on her face. "There you are."

"Hi," Kurt offered a little. He wasn't quite ready to admit it just yet, but she'd been a great help to him as of lately. There had been a lot of redtape to deal with at the shop, which had kept Kurt's dad away for periods of time, and Finn had needed to attend both school and counseling. It had been Carole, day in and day out, who'd been with him, keeping him from loosing his mind. They'd grown infinitely closer and Kurt's stomach clenched a little less painfully now every time he caught sight of the engagement ring on her finger.

"Are you feeling well enough for that?" Carole asked, Kurt, then turned to Burt and chastised, "If he over exerts himself Doctor Abrams is going to be upset."

"Mom," Finn broke in, a smile on his face, "Kurt's good. Right, Kurt?"

Kurt squared his shoulders, "Yes, Carole."

"Okay," she said kindly.

He got to go home shortly after that, a few days later after he could walk the distance of the room without becoming winded. He still tired easily, took long naps, was slow at regaining his appetite, and was unable to lift things he hadn't given more than a passing thought to before the shooting, but he was home.

Of course being home meant his father had even more of a chance to smother him with worry and anxiety. There was hardly a moment where Kurt had privacy, and he'd heard his father say quietly to Finn, mere moments after being home, "You'll keep a close eye on him, right, Finn?"

Kurt wished his father hadn't asked it of Finn, mostly because there was a weird tension between them, and apparently Finn was bent on not addressing the problem. Instead they spent almost a week awkwardly navigating school work, and meals and forced conversations before Kurt couldn't help himself and asked bluntly, "Is there a problem, Finn?"

They were downstairs in Kurt's basement bedroom, the both of their parents upstairs watching late night television. Lately Finn had taken to lingering in Kurt's room until he fell asleep, and Kurt would then wake in the morning with a blanket pulled tight around his shoulders.

"No," Finn denied right away.

"Finn."

There was never going to be a natural ease between them. The prospect had been ruined the moment Kurt had fallen in love with him and Finn had been unable to reciprocate the feelings.

"Nothing," Finn insisted.

Kurt took a deep breath, coughing a little, and setting aside the text book he'd been studying. "There is a problem here. You can talk to me, Finn. Unless I'm the problem."

With wince, Finn admitted, "You kind of are." A flash of hurt crossed Kurt's features and he jumped to say, "It's not what you think!"

"Well, enlighten me, Finn Hudson."

Finn sat next to him on the bed, his shoulders slumping. "I mean, it's not that you're the problem, I am. It's just … when I look at you … Kurt, it's hard."

"You're making even less sense than you normally do," Kurt informed him. "Would you rather talk to your mom, or maybe your psychologist?" He offered the last bit tentatively. Kurt wasn't completely sure where Finn stood on the issue of the court mandated psychologist. His father had been vague with the details, but the way Kurt understood it, Finn had nearly killed the teenager who'd shot him, and while no charges were being pressed, Finn was required to seek anger management and psychological help. A precautionary measure, Burt had assured everyone, due to traumatic events. Finn never said much about the psychologist, only that he was nice and it wasn't too difficult to be honest with him.

"I did talk to him, Kurt."

"Oh," Kurt said, wondering if that meant Finn was going to work through his problems on his own.

Finn's fingers ghosted over the soft material of Kurt's blankets, then he confessed, "I look at you Kurt and I get so angry." It was terribly difficult for Kurt to remain quiet, but he did, and Finn added, "I look at you and all I can see is that day when it happened, and I get so mad. I see you, and you've got blood all over you, and then I see him-that stupid kid, and he looks scared, Kurt, like he didn't know he could hurt you, and he didn't mean to. But it doesn't matter, because I want to kill him, and there's this … there's this furry in me that makes me think I could have. Or maybe I should have."

"Finn," Kurt said softly, "it's okay to be upset."

Finn's hands balled into fists. "Kurt, you don't get it, I look at you and I sometimes I think I can't contain the anger I feel. I'm scared I'm just going to lash out, and I don't want to hurt anyone else. It's just … it's hard to deal with. I'm sorry if that's hurting you, Kurt."

Finn had perhaps always had a problem with his anger. Kurt could recall on several occasions that Finn could be violent at the drop of a hat. He had, after all, nearly hurt Puck badly after babygate had come spilling out into the open. And Finn was more than a little hot headed. But to Kurt, that was just Finn, and he'd never been scared of him, not even when they'd had their worst fight a year earlier and it had nearly destroyed any hope of friendship with one overused word.

"Finn," Kurt said, but he didn't know how to help. For him, the entire event was nothing but a vague memory. He could recall some things, like the drive from school to the shop, with extreme clarity, and then he could picture the teenager holding his father's gun perfectly. But other things were a blur, and he remembered almost nothing after he'd been shot.

"It's okay," Finn assured him. "I'll … I'll get through this. Doctor Cho says I'm making good progress. I'll be fine."

Kurt could feel the bandages on his chest, itching his skin, a constant reminder of how close he'd come to death. But for a moment, he felt like the people who cared about him had been hurt worse than he had.

And for the first time, Kurt felt like he needed closure.

That was why, nearly four weeks to the day, Kurt climbed in his SUV and made the drive one city up. He signed in at the front desk, easily passed through security, and found himself sitting on one side of glass without really understanding what he was doing. All he knew was he needed to be there, and he needed to face his fears.

"They told me you were okay."

Kurt cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in the chair. "I don't even know your name," Kurt revealed.

"Dan," the teenager offered easily. "Just Dan. Only my mom calls me Daniel."

"Dan," Kurt tried out.

The teenager leaned forward on one elbow and said, "I was surprised when they said I had a visitor. My mom came two weeks ago and told me she wasn't going to come again. And considering I nearly killed you, I was surprised you decided to come."

Kurt could see the horrible swelling on the teen's face, still a yellowish color. And his nose seemed to be offset. Kurt combated, "Finn almost killed you."

"That kid," Dan remembered. "He broke my nose, knocked out a shitload of my teeth, and had me pissing blood up until yesterday."

Kurt felt a little proud as he said, "Finn's my brother. He just reacted."

The teen across from him nodded slowly "So, what did you come here for?"

Kurt had to shrug. "I don't know. It just felt like it was something I had to do. I almost died, and when I recovered, I realized I knew almost nothing about the person who'd nearly killed me."

In a hushed tone, Dan said, "It was an accident. I didn't mean to. I just wanted a car and some cash."

"I figured as much," Kurt said. His palms were sweating terribly and he rubbed them absently on his jeans. "You had this look on your face when you shot me. I don't remember a lot, but I remember your face."

There was a forced arrogance on the male who'd shot him, Kurt could see it plain as day. Underneath the bravado, there was just a teenager, in over his head, and more than a little uncertain.

"You want me to say I'm sorry?"

Kurt gathered himself up, trying not to wince in pain as he stood. His body still felt tender, and moving around too suddenly was a problem, but he was back at school, and Coach Sylvester was harping on him to be wearing the Cheerio white and red once more before the year was out. "Nope," Kurt answered.

Kurt didn't tell his father that he'd gone to see the teenager, but somehow he figured his father knew, at least if the way he had Finn following him around like a bloodhound the following day meant anything, or the way his father was certain to be extra affectionate.

He wasn't sure if he'd found the closure he'd been searching for, but he did feel better, and that was worth its weight in gold.

"Don't you think" Finn said, squirming in the passenger seat, "that maybe this isn't such a good idea?"

Kurt glanced briefly at him as he drove. "Why does this sound familiar?"

"I'm just saying!" Finn frowned.

"It has to be done some time," Kurt said reasonably. "And chances are, things will go much more smoothly this time. After all, what is the probability we'll interrupt a blotched robbery twice in the same place?"

Finn's eyes cut to him darkly. "Dude, so not funny."

Kurt parked in the front parking lot the same as he had before, but was thankful as Finn's phone remained silent. He wasn't one for superstition, but too many similarities and Kurt was certain he'd start to feel as nervous as Finn clearly was.

"Come on." Kurt grabbed hold of Finn's jacket. "You should be considerably more scared of my father and surrogate uncles."

"Oh," Finn said a bit dumbly. "I forgot."

Kurt felt a bright, wide smile burst onto his face as he and Finn entered the shop's reception area and a familiar form was sitting at the desk, a phone cradled against one ear and shoulder.

Immediately attention was diverted wholly to Kurt and the man Finn now knew to be Jerry clambered to his feet and greeted, "Hey there, Kurt! It's good to see you here again."

It wasn't that Kurt had been avoiding the shop, at least not for the benefit of himself. Sure, he was still a little anxious over the idea of being in the place where he had almost died, but he was more worried for Finn. Finn was steadily improving every day, and almost seemed completely normal, but there still moments where Kurt wanted nothing more than to take the memories from Finn.

"Good to be back," Kurt assured. He gestured to Finn and introduced, "This is Finn. He's been too scared to come around, but I promised him you and the guys wouldn't bite."

Jerry held a hand out and Finn met it, a careful smile on his face. "Kurt tells me you're not really a Hummel unless you can handle a car, and since I'm part Hummel now, I guessed it was time."

"Good boy."

Kurt turned sharply and saw his father standing in the doorway to the work area, dressed in his garage coveralls and looking expectant.

"Dad," Kurt said warmly.

"How was school?" Burt asked, holding an arm out for Kurt, the teen rushing to duck under it.

"Okay," Kurt answered promptly.

It sounded so right, as Kurt drifted in further from the office, to hear all of the mechanical sounds, and smell the grease. He waved to the other two guys in the shop and then called back to Finn, "Hurry up!"

"I'm coming!" Finn called out, rushing after them.

"Don't worry," Burt promised Finn, keeping himself and Kurt back as they waited for Finn to catch up. "This place is going to start to feel like a second home to you."

Kurt shook his head slowly, a happy grin on his face. He wasn't worried.


End file.
